The Tale of Neville
by Once Upon An End
Summary: Neville's world is torn apart- the earth beneath him has shattered. He feels lost in a world that seems determined to continue without him. This is his tale. And how it came to happen. And continued to happen. After war, N/H.
1. The Ending Before The Beginning

Neville hated the rain.

The rain reminded him of constant tear drops, falling.

Some caught suspended on objects that stood from the ground.

But the rain still folded and ended up on soft grass or rolling down man-made concrete.

The rain seemed to say 'I am sorrow.

'You cannot stop me.'

Oh yes.

Neville hated the rain.

* * *

Death is kind of a constant to humanity. It happens, it's part of life. Every story, ultimately, has to end.

But that fact alone can't simply prepare us for it. We've still got to fell it's pounding after-vibrations. We've still got to go on living.

It's like flying a broom, you know that you've got to fall down a bit to keep going. Because it's like to promise of victory; that life once you know how to ride a broom is supremely and ultimately better then before.

Keep flying.

Keep living.

It all seemed endless. But still not moving fast enough.

Going through the motions sucked.

Pain. Mourning. Spurts of feeling better. Then back around again.

Neville looked out at the rain- his sympathetic companion.

'Does it ever end?' he asked it.

The rain pounded against his window.

* * *

Neville looked down at the solemn face, framed by starch white hair which was encased by rough wood.

It looked sad.

The rain found it's way down his cheeks.

Damn the rain. Damn the sorrow.

Damn death.

His dress robes were stiff. It seemed oddly appropriate.

He turned around and saw more rain-hit faces. They looked sadder when their faded light turned in his direction.

They seemed to say 'I know, I feel'.

Neville envied them.

He felt nothing. Not even when the rain soaked earth took the final separation. It made a bed of no return.

Neville didn't even say goodbye.

He thought the rain said it for him.

* * *

How many moments had passed?

How many days? Weeks? Months even?

How many deaths had occurred since then? How many births?

How many rain-soaked people had marched down to the ministry and have a lined old man tell them he was sorry?

How many moments of love had taken place? How many moments of hate?

How many people made up? Broke up? How many felt happiness?

How many felt pain?

There were many manys, Neville decided.

Yet he could feel for only one.

**The last bit of my other Neville/Hannah fanfic will be up later. This just kind of needed to be written. Hope you're all still doing well, Lori.**


	2. The Attempt

The thing about chocolate, Neville decided, was that in itself, more especially as a gift; choosing _correctly_was an art form.

First, it was the decision of whether or not one should actually buy the sweet in the first place. Neville knew as well as the next wizard that when it came to women and their chocolate, it was one thing that no man could come between. It was a love that between two others, no one had come close to comparing to. But, it was also a little devil, for the opposite end of the relationship felt that chocolate was always cheating with them. That while it lulled her with sweet promises, it also apparently wrecked havoc their bodies. So in giving a woman a piece of chocolate, was Neville being supportive of the affair the girl would have it, or was he simply -excuse the verb- feeding the hate that was to arise between the two? The cause of a dilemma, or the saviour of love?

Then, once a man was to decide on the appropriateness of such a gift, it was then to pick out the kind that was best suited to the taste. Was he to buy a rich sort of goodness, or would that seem too bold of a statement? Did getting a handful of chocolate creams make him seem cheap or relaxed? Was a middle amount safe, or did it make him look boring?

All such questions, were to be asked.

Few of them to be answered.

Neville, as he strolled the small shop asked the questions to himself in turn, but rarely did he come to any sort of conclusion.

He liked the shallow questions though.

He liked that there were no answers.

He liked the superficiality of this evening. He felt no connection towards it. He figured there was a small chance of getting hurt. But Neville, although not always great with odds, liked the chance of getting out with minimal scarring.

The scars got tiring after a while.

The rain still soaked him down.

Neville walked on. He kept flying.

Turning his back to the chocolate display, Neville was about to leave the shop when he saw what he was looking for, just up front by the cashier. It seemed too perfect to be true- he had found the right chocolate. (Philosophical point: If such a thing exists)

Neville grinned. It felt like a small, tiny victory from many lost fights.

The bar seemed too busy.

He wasn't sure if a bar could be such, especially since their business seemed to revolve around too many people. Their product sold to those who needed to leave the crowd.

Neville felt a little like he belonged here. Especially with the drunken easiness that washed away sharp edges and shook off even the most stubborn bits of rain at the door.

No one even looked at him twice- sitting alone. The only thing they seemed to ponder was why he had a full glass of fire whiskey in front of him. If ever was there a thing to be questioned at a bar, it was why a person in it_wasn't_ drinking.

Neville shrugged away the stares. He didn't really have a decent answer. He just didn't really want to feel numbness tonight. He felt something.

And something was something.

Sighing, he looked towards an old wizard attempting to sit upright on the stool he was leaning off of. Every time he attempted to fix himself up, he slipped off to the left.

It was kind of funny.

But Neville didn't laugh.

He knew the feeling of falling and not being able to fix himself up right.

"Ooooo, Neville! _So_ sorry to keep you waiting! You wouldn't _believe_how long it took to find the right shoes."

Neville looked up.

Romilda looked down at him, and grinned a grin of perfect teeth.

Neville didn't grin back. He smiled. But only in that 'you see, while you're happy to be here, I'm not entirely sure yet. I've just recently felt something at all. That is an improvement. Let's just see what else I can do in one night, okay?' sort of way.

Romilda grinned like she understood.

Neville knew she didn't.

But also knew what was expected of him. He raised himself from the chair that had held countless others had fallen into. It creaked as he did. The chair, Neville thought silently, must be tired from such long nights alone, and such evenings being squatted upon. Chairs were severely underappreciated.

He then quickly slid the companion chair from across the oval sitting table and waited for Romilda Vane to sit right angled in it, spine straight, and robes flowing innocently towards the beaten floor. He then made his way back to his own.

Neville sat back down. His chair sighed a creaked thank you, then went about it's business of straining gravity.

"Any_who_, so, _like_I was saying; no amount of _Accio_would _summon_the right shoes! It was _horrid_! So, eventually, I just said, _-_to myself- 'Romilda, you're wasting time! We all know how simply _busy_ Neville Longbottom must be. What with him being _a war hero_ and all.' And of course, I simply _had_ to agree with myself!" Romilda giggled as her pampered, manicured hands tapped his of a much less pristine nature.

Neville _was_ busy.

Well, he probably should have been.

Only the rain kept stopping him.

The weighed down the world.

It stopped the beats of purpose and froze all meaning.

Life stopped living. Rain kept falling.

And girls like Romilda didn't notice.

As long as it was not their shoes who had died.

"_Deary me,_where _are_my manners!" Romilda leaned in closer and clenched on to Neville's filthy hands. Hers got whiter in the knuckles. The strain for such a small action seemed so little. She lowered her voice, which every seemed to do when speaking of death. As if death wouldn't hear them. "I am so _terribly_sorry to hear about your Grandmother. Nearly broke my heart. Such a shame. I simply _wish_I had to gotten to know her more. And you- _you_ oh I can _only_imagine. A shame, a shame." Her sympathetic pats made the rain come back.

A shame. Pat. A shame. Pat.

Continuously.

Neville felt empty again.

Shame. Pat. Shame.

Pat. Pat. Pat.

Neville cleared his throat. The patting stopped.

He felt nothing.

"I believe," he said. Empty meaning filled his voice. Funny how even meaning can become empty if you try hard enough. "I believe that it's time to order a drink, for you of course." He smiled again. The smile's eyes now said 'I'm broken. Don't try.'

She grinned. The grin said 'I don't understand. But I am pretty.'

The grin was Romilda.

Neville got up to get the drinks. Rain weighed him down.

**I like writing this. I might update sporadically and frequently :D**

**But yeah. Hannah'll come in soon. JUST WAIT (:**

**Also- depressing play lists can really get you into a character's mood.**

REVIEW3


	3. The Breaking

Amazing how apart you can be from everything around you.

Like there's a huge piece of foggy glass surrounding your body, movements and thoughts.

That you're on two separate sides of the same problem.

Neville wanted to scream.

'Stop, stop! It's over, everything. There are no reasonings to continue.

'Just stop.'

But the blurred people continued.

They drank away reasonings.

They slept through others nightmares.

They lived though some felt no life.

They were, they became, and they grew.

It sucked to be inside the frozen bubble.

But Neville felt too tired to fight on. He let the bubble take control.

Take emotion.

Take reasoning.

He thanked the bubble.

The bubble thanked Neville.

Parasite living.

Parasite growing.

Thank you.

Neville reached the strong bar.

He gripped the lasting oak.

Sighing he planted himself in one of the stools.

"Can I get you anythi- oh Neville!"

Blond hair surrounded a surprised face.

Neville looked up from the coaster circles and into the blue-eyed circles of a friend.

He liked the word. Friend. He tasted it.

It seemed right.

"Hello, Hannah."

Neville said.

He sounded defeated.

"Hello, Neville."

Hannah said.

She sounded like she wanted to help.

She sounded like she too had been defeated.

Hannah sounded like she knew what it felt like.

Neville looked up. He felt like he was clutching a last hope- a final string to perhaps string him to victory.

Hannah smiled.

Hannah's smile seemed to say. 'I get it. But I'm only going to help if you want me to. Because I get it.'

Neville smiled in a 'Please do' sort of way.

"So, what shall I be getting you?" she answered.

"I believe a small fire whiskey, please."

Patience, please. Help.

"Of course, just a second," she threw a wink over her shoulder at him as she 'accio'd' a glass.

"It's been a while," Neville considered out-loud.

Just a few births, a few break-ups, a few moments of love.

A few deaths.

One funeral.

"Too long." Hannah agreed. "So, ah- not to be out-front, but what in the _world_ are you doing on a date with Romilda Vane?"

Neville laughed. It chimed loudly. It surprised the stale air and Neville himself.

The laugh was real. The laugh cracked the bubble.

"Long story short- I became friends with Seamus."

Hannah nodded as if a friendship with a Gryffindor involved going on dates with air-headed hero-worshipers.

Maybe it did.

Neville felt like she deserved the long story.

"Well, actually. Apparently all I'm useful for now is moping- Seamus's words, not mine," he said as Hannah was about to interrupt. "So, anyway, he said that all I needed was a proper date."

Hannah snorted.

Neville laughed back.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, apparently Romilda Vane was a prime example of a date and he decided to set us up for an evening. So yeah. Here I am, and there she is and that's why I'm forced through an evening of whether or not her shoes are appropriate for the occasion." Neville's head hit the oak and coaster marks.

Hannah laughed.

"Well, you know, when that's your biggest issue, other topics of conversation can be a little reluctant to come."

Neville looked up.

Hannah winked again.

Neville relaxed. He felt something again. He liked this feeling.

"Well, I'm told shoes are a very important topic among certain people," Neville said.

"I tend to try and stay away from those sort of people, to be honest," Hannah replied.

"Smart move."

"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom."

"No problem, Miss Abbott."

They smiled together, in unison. It felt like sunshine.

Neville was hit with a sudden thought.

Maybe that is what you needed to dry off rain.

Sunshine.

Hannah got that. Maybe she was already helping him.

Maybe Hannah Abbott was trying to give him a little sunshine.

Neville liked that idea very much.

That people would like to give you sunshine.

That they could catch it between their fingers and wrap it in pretty bows.

And then place it between your own fingers. And help it chase off the other weather.

Neville looked up and saw Hannah frowning a little, looking at something over his shoulder.

Neville heard the shoes before he saw the shoe lover.

"Neville dear, I _had _to come over and _see _what was taking so long! Hmmm?"

Romilda ignored Hannah very pointedly.

Neville didn't like that.

He felt shock at the new emotion.

Anger.

He dropped the sunshine gift.

"Well, anyway," Hannah backed away and threw a rag over her shoulder. "There are some costumers I must go serve… Good luck Neville." She nodded a good-bye to Romilda who acted like she didn't see it.

Neville turned back to Romilda's uniformed and controlled curls. Her flawless skin, her large innocent eyes.

"Neville, _sweetie,_ you should come and we'll drink before the drinks get cold." Romilda nodded towards the table they were sitting at before.

The chair asked him back.

'Weigh me your sorrows' it begged.

But Neville felt he had done enough of that already.

He didn't want to spend an evening with Romilda who acted very petty and jealous in the face of a friend.

He didn't want her to chase off the sunshine.

He wanted to feel something.

He didn't want to wade through shallow thoughts and moments with a girl who's beauty stopped short of her appearance.

"Actually, I'm feeling rather tired," Neville replied. Romilda, for all her oblivion, caught on quickly.

Perhaps her biggest trait was the waters of socialization. She knew when her presence was welcome and when it wasn't.

With her nose in the air she said a simple 'Hmph' before she walked out of the bar and promptly (Neville assumed) apparrated.

Neville sighed.

Sometimes feeling sucked.

* * *

**Arguably, these could all have been one chapter.**

**But Neville's life is kind of in shambles, and the whole 'bits' thing is suppose to show that. With the writing and the small chapters.**


	4. The Invitation

The light dripped down stone walls and skidded across piles of work.

Hazed by glass, the sun tumbled over dark oak and loved books. It lightly tickled quills and caressed old floor-boards. Lovingly it did hug woollen sheets and tired skin. It begged for alertness, it with glassy stance enjoyed nothing more then to kiss sweet eye-lids awake.

But Neville's consciousness turned away from the sickly sweet fingers grazing his face. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, blocking out the substance that could relieve him, but cause him all the more pain.

Neville had been –if nothing else- kept busy the last few weeks. School term had commenced, and after a week of leave, given from a sober faced headmistress, he had returned to his position as Herbology teacher.

Keep flying, keep going, keep moving. For the last thing one needed was for the world to move on without you. It took a lot more work after to catch up.

Even if you forgot why you were trying not to fall behind in the first place.

Sighing, the man on the bed stirred slightly, almost testing the world outside his covers. They seemed too heavenly a haven to leave, but still, the rays tugged him forth. He knew, truly, he was of no power to stop them. Man vs the elements. Let's be frank here; the elements always won.

I'm getting too worn, he thought solemnly. The cage he had built was slowly moving outwards, the hurt with it. It seemed to grow constantly, and he had no control.

_Oooooooo- _came a noise outside his window. Lifting his head ungracefully from the pillow, a mess of tangled hair and scruffy beard framed wide eyes.

For a moment Neville couldn't believe what he was seeing. No one – and I mean this quite literally- no one ever owled Neville Longbottom on a Sunday. I mean, in general, he seldom heard from people now days. Except for a few half-hearted invitations from friends he never saw much anymore. Or when he was away- he got a few from school. But never did he get any sort of interaction on weekends. For weekends were what people lived for- free time to do as they pleased.

Few wanted to waste precious moments on those like Neville who suffered through them. He liked having things to do. He liked always having something to teach, or do. Whatever took his mind off things. Weekends didn't provide such a beautiful relief.

The owl tapped impatiently again. Groaning, the mattress complained about the lack of companion as Neville lept towards the window.

Tearing open the latch, the light brown owl glided gracefully on the windowsill, where it perched, sticking it's leg out dutifully to be relieved of it's message.

Neville tugged free the ribbon easily and shook open the letter.

_Dear Neville,_

_ Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Apologies if I am. (Double apologies if what I'm interrupting involves shoes, I do know your fondness for them.) But I was hoping I could take you up on that 'I'm available anytime! No problem, just send an owl' offer.  
You see, I was actually just talking to my darling sister, who, for some reason, seems to think I'm bound to be a sad, sappy, sour spinster (say THAT ten times fast!) and has tried to set me up with some of her muggle suitors. And to discourage her I have told her that I am currently seeing someone. _

_ Well, Neville, I lied._

_ I am not seeing anyone. Nor do I know anyone who would willingly see me. Working as much as I do, I don't really get to know people anymore then a 'would you like a refill sir?' or 'Small glass or big?' and the inevitable 'Do you want to see if anyone will apparate you home?'. Meaning, I haven't a large supply of men to do me such favours. I thought of you and wondered if you fancied a tea tomorrow out at a restaurant in London? My sister's treat. _

_ Feel free to say no! And forget about the other night- I think we BOTH had a little too much firewhiskey in our heads._

_Sincerely,_

_Hannah._

Ugh.

Neville sighed. He had been trying for the last few weeks to try and forget what a fool he had made of himself. He had tried so hard to just move on, determined to forget everything. But the sunshine had caught up. And sunshine truly casts shadows.

Feeling humiliated and flushed he reached for a quill and intended to write an apologetic no in response. Unfortunately, the message from his head twisted and confuzzled itself on the way to his fingers, almost like a Chinese Whisper game. Somehow the offhand no turned into an inked, enthusiastic yes. And before he could even second guess the mixup, his owl was soaring away the response.

Bugger, he thought vaguely.

Actually, if he wasn't COMPLETELY lying to himself, the thought of spending more time –hopefully less embarrassing time- with Hannah was quite an appealing thought. Even if it meant he had to endure rounded conversation with her sister who he already didn't like. Well, he didn't exactly have the best opinion of her, considering she used foul worded alliteration on Hannah.

It was really an odd sort of feeling that had washed over him. Like the silent waver of a broom when you shot up immediately after mounting it. The slight hesitation- the moment of worry if whether or not you were able to stay in mid air. He felt as if agreeing to play the part of boyfriend-extraordinaire was a jump on a fence, one shift of weight and he would come crashing down again. 

Who was he- Neville Longbottom to the charming Holder Of Sunshine? Was he elusive and changing? Was he someone to be called when she needed him, or a friend to lean on?

All of this- he thought bitterly- was definitely too much to be thinking about before breakfast. Sighing he excited the door, trying not to remember the last time he was with Hannah, and –of course- failing miserably.


	5. The Memory

When Neville recounted the moments that led up to The Moment after, it really should have been obvious to all involved that Neville was not much of a drinker.

Of course he- like all others- had the occasional glass with a friend, and more especially an odd one here or there after his mother died, but he was by no means use to 'drowning his troubles' as it were.

But, after returning to the bar- his date having stomped off (which was arguably a direct cause of some words he said, which was in resulting of her additude which all kind of fell under the high of emotions that had surged through him within the last hour) he drank.

At about the third glass he finally understood why people spent so many moments with a glass in their hand. Before this moment, he only saw stupidity and hang overs- moments to regret and promises to never drink again, things from the outside looking in (all of which were valid, and all of which we shall return to). But on the inside- to be the one actually consuming the alcohol- it felt so fantastic. The firewhiskey shot through his veins, it rounded the hard edges of the world around and hazed the sharp colours. They made everything separate- everything from him.

So he drank a few more. Keeping up conversation that was flowing –well, stuttering in truth- from his mouth. Exchanging words and moments and thoughts with the pretty blonde girl on the other side of the counter. He watched her and responded –with what he couldn't remember later- but he just decided, detached, it felt perfect. It felt like it fit.

It wasn't until Hannah started to have a few herself that he finally looked around the bar, noticing it was completely empty.

_Huh. _He thought. _When did that happen? What time is it anyway. _

He turned around again and saw Hannah finishing off another glass herself, pouring him another. She had finished off a few herself, in between chatting with him and tending to the other customers. But with everyone left she refilled her glass more freely, talking more.

After countless words and sips, somehow both had ended up on the floor, leaning against each other, pouring their heart out.

"I don't even know what I was thinking," Hannah slurred. "He was such an ass, but it's just- it just kept going, you know?"

Neville thought for a second. "Yeah. Well, no but yeah. I mean, I've never really had a steady girlfriend."

Hannah looked up, her mouth open to the side, her hair a mess. She looked perfect, Neville thought. "You're joking."

Neville snorted a laugh of sorts. "Nope. You're looking at the poster boy of single wizards."

Hannah shook her head a little, mubling something about "you're lying."

"Well, to be honest I'm not exactly what girls would 'swoon' over."

Hannah snorted. "Neville- you're a freaking _war_ hero. You've got to be jinxing girls off your step daily."

"Oh, yeah. The neighbors think it's hilarious," he said as he slid on a sloppy grin.

"Seriously, Neville there's no way you can sit there and tell me you can't get a date."

"The whole _getting_ a date isn't a problem. It's usually the After part that sucks."

"What do you mean?"

Neville sighed. "It's just, once they realise that I'm nothing special they usually move on. I mean, who am I now? They only see the guy before- the guy on the chocolate frog card. The one who took down the snake. Not who I am now a severely messed up wizard, teaching herbology and trying to just get through with little interaction. Well, I guess most of that was only recently, but still."

Hannah was silent for a moment. Then she poked him.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being a negative nelly!" she said. "_I _think you're fine. Girls are stupid."

Neville laughed. "Are witches allowed saying that about each other?"

"They are if it's true."

"I like you." Neville said.

"I like you, too." Hannah replied easily.

And then, without any warning, without even thinking about it himself, Neville leaned down and kissed her.

He didn't know if it was the sticky taste of firewhiskey on her lips that kept him going. It could have been the atmosphere, the bubble they had put around themselves, or just the time of night- the right time of dark where it seems like it's only you alive on the earth. Or it could have been how she kissed him back.

It was so perfect, so fantastic that Neville didn't think it would stop. Her heated breath mixed with his own, hurt and regret mixed with spirits wounded around them, it bounded them together, all feeding of everything and each other.

Neville placed his hands at her waist, and she put hers in his hair. They wrapped themselves in each other and the bubble grew tighter.

That was until it popped.

Hannah gasped and dropped her hands, jumping up, making Neville lose his balance.

"I-I-I-I I can't do this, I'm s-s-sorry," she stuttered, eyes wide. She stumbled to behind the bar, through a door he hadn't seen before.

Neville just looked at where she had been only a second ago.

God, the rain sucked.


End file.
